


driving 'em crazy

by perfect_little_fool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, Desire, F/M, Friends to Lovers, High Heels, It could happen eventually am I right, Single Stiles, Want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stop ogling Lydia—you are here to look up information on golems, not analyze her legs until you know where each mole is fucking located.</i>
</p><p>(Or the one where Lydia is wearing heels and it leads Stiles down a path he thought he'd given up on a long time ago.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	driving 'em crazy

**Author's Note:**

> YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED: this is basically everything I've ever wanted to happen between these two nerds in one scene so it's more like a porn for the mind then for the body. Although there is porn for the body but you catch my drift, right?
> 
> _Pretty new dress_   
>  _I just can't keep my hands off of you_   
>  _You look so small wrapped up in my arms_   
>  _I'm so in love with you_

It wasn’t even her short skirt.

Or the fact that her bra was accentuating her breasts with just the right amount of _push_ so they blossomed out from her body like two beautiful globes just begging to be manhandled.

 _Or_ that her hair was piled high on her head in a sexy, messy bun so that the back of her slender neck was bare, showing off her deliciously creamy, pale skin that flushed with goosebumps each time she shivered from the chill of the air conditioning.

No. It wasn’t any of these things.

It was those fucking _high-ass heels_ that elongated her legs in _such a way_ that they itched at Stiles for reasons that he _couldn’t fucking understand_. Just watching her get on her tip-toes (which was fucking pointless since those death traps were at least three inches so why would she need to reach?) to stretch up for a book or a piece of paper or God-knows what else she needed to do research with was tightening the area behind his zipper. He was going to need to take a bathroom break _stat_ if this torture continued.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight, bringing two clenched fists up and rubbing at the closed lids to pound some sense into himself. _Stop ogling Lydia—you are here to look up information on golems, not analyze her legs until you know where each mole is fucking located._

A breath is released from his open mouth loudly before he reopens his eyes and looks down at the propped open book in front of him on his desk. 

“I found something,” the girl six feet away from him pipes up, turning back so she was facing Stiles instead of his bookshelf, her finger running down the page she was scanning of some thick leather bound book she’d gotten from the library. “ _Golems are created magically and entirely of inanimate matter_. So, as in earth or stone? Which would make sense, since the one we encountered was made of some sort of red-brown clay or mud.”

Stiles nods, another piece of info immediately wiggling its way into his brain. “So that means whoever formed them or created them obviously has control over them. Right?”

“I’d assume so,” Lydia replies, tucking a piece of her strawberry hair behind an ear as she sets the book down on the table next to his, keeping it open to the page she’d read from. “It’s also been mentioned in a lot of the other texts that it was mostly and/or strictly used in Judaism. Here, hand me that one over there.” She bends slightly forward over the surface of his desk, her arm gesturing toward a blue-cloth covered book that was significantly smaller than the one she had in front of her. He pries his eyes away from the chest that was only eight inches from his face and grabs the requested item for her.

As she searches through it to find whatever it was she was looking for, Stiles clears his throat to put in his own input. “In this one here,” he mentions, tapping the book he had been viewing, “it says that they are sometimes classified as ‘slow’ and ‘dumb’. Why would someone take the time to create a creature that wouldn’t be much help in speed or brains?”

She nods, her candy-pink tongue slipping out to peak from between her lips—the sight of it making all the blood rush from his (oh, _shit fuck_ ) head to his ( _son of a bitch_ ) god damn piss-ass cock. He has to clench his thighs together so tight until it was painful in order for him to pay attention to the words she was speaking rather than the tantalizing ruby-red painted mouth they were coming out of.

“…it says that whatever instruction is given to a golem, it will take that instruction and perform it-- _literally_ ,” she informs him, looking back up so their eyes were glued together again. “So, for example, if the controller were to tell a golem to, god forbid, ‘play in traffic’, then the golem would literally have to _go play out in the middle of a car-filled street_.”

Stiles squints his eyes. “Wow. What a terrible waste of clay.”

“It’s not though, really,” Lydia contradicts, flipping to the next page in the book she was now pouring over. “Think about it: a willing, whatever-size-you-made-it being that jumps at your word and is at your beck and call. Stiles. It’s the ultimate protector. The ultimate _bodyguard_.”

The boy gets to his full height, eyes wide with newfound knowledge. “So the golem we discovered the other night wasn’t the creature we were trying to find—it was the creature’s guardian.”

The back of her hand smacks the page of the book, beaming in triumph as they’d figured it out. “Exactly.”

“Lyds—we did it!” he shouts in success, the book falling from her arms as they instantly reach out with wide stances to pull each other into a hug. The two teenagers laugh as he picks her up around the waist to give her a good, girly twirl that left her shrieking giggles and come on, Stiles, put me down!

When he got a bit too dizzy and realized he’d been holding onto her a few moments longer than he probably should have, he slowly halts their circling and puts her back on her heeled feet. With those spikes on, the top of her head just brushed his chin, as if this fake height of hers was made for him to tuck his chin against her crown. The thought settled itself deep in his brain, making him drop his arms from around her quickly as he didn’t want to make her too overwhelmed with his urging need to have his arms around her.

“Man, what a beautiful thing though,” he comments idly, knowing if he didn’t make small talk with her he would just stand open-mouthed at the long, smooth sticks she called legs. “Having something at your beck and call, something to do everything you asked it to. I’d never have to do my own laundry again.”

Lydia snorts, falling back on his bed with a resound _oof_ as he closes his laptop since they were done doing their normal detective work for the night. “Typical. I’m not surprised you would wholly appreciate a being to see to your every command. So… _man_ of you.”

“Like you wouldn’t enjoy that,” Stiles contradicts with a hint of presumption in his tone. “The famous Lydia Martin, humphing at the chance to have someone always at her heels to do whatever she pleases. As if you wouldn’t love every second of it.” He leans back against his desk, raising his eyebrows as if daring her to say otherwise.

She gasps mockingly, sitting up straight with her legs stretched out in front of her. His mouth practically waters but he forces his eyes to stay trained on hers. “I would not! I take a lot of pride in doing things myself, Mr. Stilinski. I would watch what you say to me if I were you.”

“Don’t be bossy with me, Lydia. You know I stopped taking it from you months ago.”

The pretty redhead flutters her lids and nods, warping her face into a sad, forlorn expression that was clearly for acting purposes. “Oh, how I miss little sophomore-Stiles—always willing to hold my bag and massage my feet.”

He laughs, clapping his hands loudly to enunciate his amusement. “When did I _ever_ massage your feet?”

“Well, never, but it doesn’t mean it’d have been unappreciated.”

They grin at each other simultaneously, Stiles having to look away after few beats as his face began to redden noticeably. He clears his throat and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Lydia bites her bottom lip and gazes down at her legs, picking at an errant string on her skirt. “I’ll text Scott about what we found—how ‘bout we order take out as well? I know your parents are out of town so maybe you’d just wanna stick around for dinner?”

The girl’s head whips up, her mouth propped half-open in a shocked expression. Not that she wasn’t close enough with Stiles to stay late at night in his bedroom (for God’s sake, the two of them had had numerous one-on-one sleepovers for _months_ after the Nogitsune had left his body and Allison’s death) but she thought that they had moved past that. Especially since he hadn't asked her to do so in a while. But her lips pull up into a compassionate smile. “Sure. Pizza or Chinese? I can call while you text Scott.”

“You choose,” he shrugs lazily, shouldering off his red flannel to reveal the plain white tee beneath it. She swallows. “I’m fine with either.” He gives her another genuine smile before tapping his screen on and getting to work writing his novel-length message to his best friend.

They both make quick work of doing what they were doing, Lydia calling the closest pizza place to get a pie delivered and Stiles finishing up his text to inquire about his and Lydia’s discoveries about the golem. Both were finished in just a few minutes and they sit propped on Stiles' bed, Lydia against the wall with him against his headboard and legs tangled in front of them.

“Do you really miss sophomore-Stiles?” he questions out of the blue, turning over her earlier comment about his younger self. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been itching at him since she said it. 

She puffs her lips out a little bit in a thoughtful expression, finally shrugging one shoulder casually after a few moments of silence from her. “Not particularly. Do I miss your buzzed head? A little, but only because it always looked so soft. Do I miss the slight-stalking? Definitely not.”

He chuckles, looking away as he feels blood rush to his face. “Oh, God. I was a mess, wasn’t I?”

Lydia laughs, shaking her head as she runs a hand down her thigh as if she had an itch there. Stiles watches the movement of her fingers trailing over the creamy skin, his mouth running dry and his eyes hazing a little. He peels his gaze from it once he realized he was practically _gawking_. “You weren’t a mess. You just thought you were in love.”

“At the time I didn’t think, I believed,” he points out, tossing his phone so it landed on the side table next to his bed. “I was so in love with you I couldn’t see straight, Lyds.”

She pushes his shoulder playfully, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be so overdramatic, Stiles. A little third-grade crush didn’t mean you had deep-rooted feelings for me. And hey, look where it got us? We’re much closer now and I can’t imagine having a better guy to go to.”

He pauses before nodding in agreement, averting his line of sight so he was staring at a patch of his mattress to his left. Don’t get him wrong—he loves his relationship with Lydia. They figure everything out together, they’re a team, and she trusts him with her life. But how come there’s always this gnawing sense at the center of his chest every time they hold each other close, or hold hands as they run through a parking lot to escape from their most recent baddie, or find each other in the school hallway and make prolonged eye contact just to make sure the other was safe? It wasn’t supposed to be this way—he wasn’t supposed to pine, try, and end up with nothing in the end. So why does he feel like he won and lost all at the same time?

“Yeah,” Stiles eventually murmurs, reaching up to idly scratch at the back of his neck. He suddenly didn’t know how to continue the conversation, didn’t know what to say to halt the silence creeping up on them. But luckily Lydia saves him by bending forward, her hands curling around her calves.

“Be lucky you don’t wear heels on a daily basis,” she groans, the sound almost like music to Stiles ears. “They are _killer_.”

“They make your legs look terrific though.”

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck did he really just say that?_

Lydia grins, putting out a hand to rub at Stiles shin. “Thank you. Really. I just wish they could look like this all the time without me having to wear these weapons they call shoes.”

He laughs, glad she didn’t take his compliment as overeager or creepy. Stiles blows out a breath and shakes his head. “You don’t need to wear heels to look good, Lydia. You do that all on your own, you know that right?” He cocks a brow as he gazes down at her.

She flutters her lashes jokingly. “Are you trying to sweet talk me, Mr. Stilinski?”

With one sentence, it seemed like the air between the two of them became electrically charged, his heart hammering faster and faster in his chest. “That depends,” he smiles coyly, leaning forward by nothing more than a centimeter but he knew Lydia had noticed it, “is it working, Ms. Martin?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, they just keep this _eye contact_ that ( _fuck_ ) made the arousal Stiles had been harboring for the majority of the night just flare back up—and he was very, very, _very_ glad Lydia wasn’t a werewolf or she would be not only be hearing his accelerating heartbeat but also smell the undeniable _lust_ and desire that was practically pouring out of his pores right about now. 

And then they were kissing.

He doesn’t know who initiated it, doesn’t know which of them leaned forward to take the final step, but he didn’t _care_. He was fucking _kissing_ Lydia Martin when just moments ago she’d been calling him her best friend and now his tongue was _finding its way into her mouth_ and holy shit did he fall asleep while she was over and conjure up a hyper-realistic dream?

Good God, even if he did he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

After what felt like eons of them just kissing, hands to themselves and just their lips doing the communicating, they pull back at the same time, breathing labored and eyes wide in disbelief. Lydia’s cheeks were dampened with a nice shade of pink, the color winding up onto her forehead and disappearing into her hairline. Her lips were parted as she gasped minimally, the color of them darker than usual. Stiles’ eyes scan hastily over her face to look desperately for any negative sign.

“Uhm, did we…did we just…?” he can’t even finish his question, still too distracted by the fact that he had just _kissed the absolute shit out of Lydia Martin_.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I think so,” she mumbles back, her throat closing so she can swallow. “I don’t…I don’t know how it…one second we were…I am so—”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, wondering why they were talking in hushed tones when his father was at the police station, meaning they were in his house alone. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment so he keeps this inquiry to himself. “It’s something I’ve wanted since I was eight, Lyds.”

She gives a soft laugh, still looking at him with the mixed expression of awe and disbelief. But not a bad disbelief, more like a what-the-fuck-was-that disbelief. “What else have you wanted since you were eight?” Her top teeth dip into her bottom lip artfully, almost as if she had spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting the perfect lip-bite. 

“Well, not since I was eight, but probably since I was thirteen or fourteen—”

“Just shut up and kiss me again,” she breathes and he has no problem obliging, grabbing at her waist and bringing their mouths together once more, tugging at her torso so she’d get the hint to move up and over so she was straddling his hips. 

He moans at the contact of skin and skin, the skirt of her dress riding up so more of her to-die-for legs were exposed. Stiles immediately takes advantage of the reveal, hands sliding down exquisitely smooth skin and fingers digging into thigh muscle and hips shifting against each other and _holy fucking asshole he is dry-humping with the girl of his dreams_.

His eyes flutter open as she tugs at the hair on the back of his head, their mouths falling away from each other again as he continues to press burning fingertips into her quads. “You really like my legs, huh?” she gives a wide grin, pressing light, feathery smothering of lips against his cheek and down his jaw and over his neck. 

“Can you blame me? I’ve pictured having them wrapped around me since I knew what having a hard-on was, Lydia,” he admits, her head moving back as she gives a low, throaty moan from the back of her throat at his words. His lips immediately take advantage of the exposed column of her throat and dive in to suck and bite and nip and kiss.

“I-I didn’t know you still felt this way,” she drags out, lids fluttering as he swirls his tongue around the fresh new bruise he’d placed to the left of her neck. “I thought you’d moved on with the-the coy—” Her sentence is interrupted as Stiles finds his hands wandering up her legs again to cup at her ass, her hips shifting forward at the sensation of having someone’s hands on her there again.

“Stop talking,” he retorts, licking a hot trail from one end of her collarbone to the other. “I have been dreaming of what to do to you for years and it’s finally a reality. Give me this, at least.”

Lydia nods as warm little pants escape her parted lips. His teeth scrape down the flat plane of her chest, stopping where her shirt was buttoned as his nose dips gently into the open collar. She watches with unblinking eyes as one hand curls around her hip from her ass to travel up her side, just the feel of his hot palm smoothing over her clothed skin enough to make her pulse skip a beat. When his deft fingers pick out the first button of her shirt, she rocks restlessly in his lap.

“Oh God,” Stiles exhales sharply, his lids fluttering with the temptation to close. “If you do that again this is going to be over much quicker than either of us would like, Lyds.”

At the sound of her rarely spoken nickname she feels the need to cant up the junction between her thighs again in order to use the denim of his jeans to her advantage, but stays as still as she can. She wants this to go as far as it can just as much as he does.

He finishes unbuttoning her pale blue blouse before untucking it from the waist of her skirt and pushing it off her shoulders in a messy fashion. Lips return to lips as he skips right over the teasing image of her pure white bra. It was then that he surges up with strength she had _no_ idea he possessed, flipping her onto her back so his body was positioned between her legs. A surprised whimper leaves her mouth into his as the front of his jeans unintentionally rubs right into where she needed it most, causing a longer, lower hum to vibrate straight from her esophagus.

“Oh God, Stiles, I know you wanna take your time but…oh _fuck_ …please just—” Her prayers are answered as he brushes his way down her body, dragging the tip of his nose over her smooth, bare skin. She smelled so so sweet, exactly how he imagined her scent to be perfumed. Lips unceremoniously drag and caress over the swells of her breasts, still concealed, before Stiles moves on toward her rib cage. He presses tiny kisses there, making his dainty way down to her belly button where he takes her by surprise and bites (not too gently mind you) the swell of skin just about her pubic bone. Those hips so near his face ricochet up at the string of heat his teeth set off, another moan falling out of her mouth.

“I swear to God Stiles _please_ —!” She breaks off on a sob of pleasure as his hand sneaks under her skirt, thrumming a finger ever so softly across the crotch of her panties. The cry is broken off into uneasy breathing as he settles himself between her knees, using his other hand to move her skirt up and out of the way. “Oh yes, yes, yes…” she whimpers to herself, although knowing they were more to encourage the boy hovering over her now soaked center. 

“Mmm,” he contributes, pressing his nose very carefully to the top of her covered crease, breathing in her warmth and feeling her right where he’d always wanted to feel her. “Fuck, you’re so wet, Lydia.” Hearing him say her name while his mouth is pressed right to her pussy makes her blood boil and she could’ve sworn she saw white flash before her eyes in a moment of temporary bliss.

He swiftly plucks his fingers at the sides of her underwear, rolling to the side in order to slide them down her legs. Once they were off and in their rightful place on his bedroom floor he places himself back where _he_ belonged. 

He soothes his hands over the insides of her thighs on either side of her pulsating slit, effectively pulling apart her swollen lips and allowing him to look at her in the most intimate way possible.

Stiles’ moan could not have been more desperate or needy.

“You…you are enjoying this waa-ay too much,” Lydia murmurs with a weak voice, shifting back against the bed and feeling her skirt flutter across the globes of her ass. He’d managed to strip her naked in a way that wasn’t even nudity—but in the way where she felt most exposed before him.

He spares her a glance from behind his eyelids, one of the darkest smiles she’d ever seen him give teasing at the sides of his mouth. “Can you blame me? You have one of the prettiest pussies I think on this planet.”

Such crude, crude words spilling past his thin lips has her heart practically palpating behind her rib cage and she brings a hand up to fist into the thick brown hair at the back of his head. “Then please fucking _do something_ before I just do it myself,” the redhead threatens feistily, tugging at the tendrils in between her fingers minimally.

Stiles smirks. _Smirks_.

And if that isn’t the hottest thing she’s ever seen…

Probably the most obscene noise escapes the back of her mouth as his tongue does a long sweep from the very bottom of her entrance and up to the tip-top of her clit. He swirls oh so gently around the bundle of nerves, his thumbs on either side of her labia pressing into the tight skin there to hold her open for his onslaught. She feels air leave her lungs as she holds tighter to the nape of his neck, wanting so badly to rotate her hips toward his face but not finding the ability to do so with his palms pushing her open thighs flush to the bed. 

As his tongue then begins to make firm, organized strokes against her lips she finds her free hand uncurling from the sheets beneath her and up, up, up to her chest in order to free her still-covered breasts. They felt hot, heavy, and as if they couldn’t _breathe_ so she quickly makes work of pushing the cups out of the way and letting the pert, pink nipples find cool air. 

Stiles was now practically buried in her cunt, his lips kissing hers as he expertly eases his wet flesh in and out of her at a rapidly building pace. One thumb releases its agonizing press against her vulva in order to create a swirling motion right atop her clit and that’s when she swears her vision went so hazy around the edges that everything became a blur because she was being eaten out by a boy she didn’t even think would be able to fuck properly.

 _She was so god damn wrong_.

Lydia could feel the heat tightening like a grip in her abdomen, could feel the taste of sweet release on the tip of her tongue. She tugs at the back of Stiles’ head to indicate this, feeling his knowledge of this as he pushes harder against her pussy. Little tiny sobs hiccup out of her mouth as she feels him work to get her there, feeling as if his genuine interest in getting her off was what was going to seal the deal for her.

It was then as he scratches his teeth right across the hood of her clit that she fucking loses it.

What felt like a tidal wave of warmth rockets up from her womb and straight through her chest, the orgasm sweeping over her in long strings of heat. She could feel the tremors in her toes for God’s sake, could feel her fingers spasming against the skin of his neck. Lydia knew that the noise that had fallen from her lips was one of complete and utter pleasure, one she would probably be embarrassed by had she been conscious enough to hear herself, but she was too in tune with the shocks resonating through her core as she finds herself stumbling back down from her high to give a shit.

As she returns to herself she could feel Stiles giving her little sweet kisses right against her clit with feather-light delicacy, his eyes locked straight on her face as he does so. It was the most ridiculous, lovely thing he could have done in this moment, her breathless pants turning into a soft laugh as she grins wider than he’d seen her do in what felt like a whole year.

“That was…” she attempts to give as her fingers pull through his sweaty ruffled hair.

“…I know,” he murmurs, moving up slightly to rest his chin against the material of her skirt that was flipped over the stretch of skin between her hip bones, smiling at her lazily but with the slightest hint of triumph. 

_Because holy shit he just made Lydia Martin come in what seemed like a really good way and damn it to hell if he wasn’t going to be fucking proud of that_

He keeps his hands on her spread thighs, gently running his hands over the flushed skin there with these slow languid sweeps that set her skin on fire with each new round trip the warm palms made. A thick silence filled the room around them, although neither made a move to break it or to even move on to what would usually occur after this block of foreplay—it was too precious of a moment to ruin.

And even when he does eventually shift up to give a Lydia long, unhurried kiss, the doorbell rings to notify them their pizza has arrived and he has to begrudgingly get up to go answer the call. But not before giving her one more hot touch of his mouth, her body swelling with need all over again and she finds herself wishing he were still between her legs, gazing up at her with that adoring look he’s been throwing her since elementary school.

Except this time, it was filled with much more than idolized infatuation.

And it warmed her right where his lips had been minutes before as well as right smack-dab in the middle of her chest.


End file.
